


Close Quarters

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Chas and John [4]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Closet Sex, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, Grinding, Hiding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chas and John are left waiting for a guard to leave whilst jammed into a closet together; the close quarters lead to a little fun on their parts, cramped conditions be damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Quarters

“Chas.” John murmurs, and his body is pressed so tightly against Chas' that if Chas decided to puff out his chest on the exhale John would no doubt complain for lack of space; they're both shoved into a little closet together in preparation for the moon's rise – it won't be for at least another hour or so, but the guard's shift isn't over for another half, so here they wait.

“ _What._ ” Chas hisses back. It's not a question: he doesn't want to know. His body is bent over awkwardly because closets aren't made to hold men who are broad and six foot six, but John is looking up at him, and _God_ , _**God**_ , he can't want sex _now._

Constantine's tongue flickers out and douses his bottom lip in an enticing slick that shines in the bare _sliver_ of light coming in through the top of the cupboard door, and then he _bites_ down on the red flesh, brow furrowing in a ridiculously filthy parody of schoolgirl innocence. “ _Chas._ ” He repeats, and then, “ _Daddy.”_

Chas feels a flicker of interest despite himself, which isn't _fair_ , because he's not really got the space to do _anything_ to John right now-

Ah.

While he's not got the space to _play_ , not really, John has a little more wiggle-room than Chas himself. He lets out a short, thoughtful noise, and then he shifts his hands, putting them either side of John's head and leaning back against the wall, legs spread.

John is now almost bracketed by Chas' knees and hands, but he doesn't seem to mind, looking just a little more excited than he had a moment before; his eyes shine with something else, something Chas always sees when John is getting off on something he shouldn't do. Not just sex, either – it's the same look he gets just before Chas slaps him upside the head for drinking juice from the carton.

Not that the man drinks enough of the stuff _anyway_ , but, hey. That's off-topic.

“Unbuckle your belt, John.” Chas murmurs, and John lets out an exhalation that is all breath with just a _hint_ of a whine, but he obeys, all awkward elbows between their chests because there's not space for him to _swagger_ as he takes his clothes off; the belt is unbuckled, and then Chas leaves his left hand by the side of John's face, the other moving to cup his crotch.

He can feel John's cock – and for _Christ's sake_ , he's not wearing underwear, the idiot – half hard against the fabric of his slacks, and he _squeezes_.He doesn't squeeze hard, not at all, just tightens his hand around the bulge there, and John lets out a hiss of sound, pressing his cheek to Chas' wrist and leaning on his arm.

And then Chas loosens his grip, leaving his palm pressed against the other man's crotch but not moving, not grasping, not _playing_.

“Johnny?” Constantine looks at him with the prettiest wide eyes Chas has ever seen – incredible, how such a corrupt man can look so corruptibly _innocent_ when he's intent enough on Chas Chandler's hand. “Grind, and you come. Don't, and no dice.”

The innocent look drops; John looks almost _apprehensive_ for a second. Not defiant, not defiant at all; he just looks like he's trying to think of angles and logistics for a second, and then he presses his mouth to Chas' inner arm, adjusting his position.

“Oh, Johnny-lad?” It's almost sing-song, but John still looks at him with a sort of sexual _delight_ on his face, something that's almost a sneer. “You make so much as a keen, and when we're out of here I'll leave so many bruises on you they won't be able to tell you from the ham hock in the fridge.” John _huffs_ , eyes wide. Chas feels his erection give a quick _pulse_ under his trousers. Chas would never bruise him badly, wouldn't even _spank_ him if it wasn't stopped short at twenty slaps, but for some reason the idea of Chas kicking the shit out of him really gets John's rocks off.

He grinds his hips _down_ , fucks himself over Chas' broad palm with just the thin fabric between them, and he bites his lip _hard_ , eyes closing tightly.“Chas, this 'in't really- there ain't space-”

“This is all you're getting.” John takes in a breath, brow furrowing in concentration as he closes his eyes, thrusting his hips forwards. Well interrupted, Chas Chandler; you've won yourself a brand new Northern _boy_ toy. He can't help but grin as John begins to thrust himself properly, eyes remaining closed as he does his best to slide his crotch against the palm of Chas' hand, and in the dark the actual action is barely visible at all, though you can see the growing bulge – no, the real action is in the minuscule changes of John's expression, half-enshrouded though they might be.

Chas watches with satisfaction as John's concentration begins to become mixed with little bits of pleasure; his mouth opens, and his tongue shivers inside, but doesn't move to play with his teeth or slick his lips. His breaths become shallower, and the furrow between his brow gets deeper, more concentrated – it takes a little while, John getting more and more _irritated_ , and it shows on his face as he focuses more, chasing the orgasm that Chas is choosing to give him.

Because that's what it comes down to, really: Chas is _allowing_ him to have this, and John is choosing discomfort and still getting off now over getting off in a more comfortable way later on.

It doesn't take that long; John starts chewing on his bottom lip, stifling these breathy little moans Chas is going to fuck out of him later tonight, and when he comes his eyes come open wide, his lips parting, and then he _flops_ against Chas like a rag doll.

“Hurts.” John mutters, and Chas laughs, dragging his hand away before the _wet_ comes through and onto his fingers.

“Hips?”

“Oh, yeah. God, Chas, you're a nasty twat.” John is suddenly fidgeting, letting out soft, irritated sounds as he finds he can't quite escape the slick of his own _come._

“You deserve it.” Chas retorts, and he drags his lips over the other's cheek, leaving a kiss on the skin there. “Unbutton my shirt.”

“Ooh.” John says lightly, sounding intrigued as he does so, and Chas rolls his eyes.

“I meant for your new _stain_ , unless you want Zed to see what you've been doing.” There's a pause.

“Shite.”

“You're lucky I think ahead.”

“C _shhst_.” John retorts eloquently, but he stands on his tiptoes to push Chas' shirt off his shoulders and it's soon wrapped around his waist over his rebuckled belt. Chas grasps at his jaw, and John looks at him as he leans to speak directly into Constantine's ear.

“We're gonna deal with this job tonight, and all through you're gonna sit in your own _mess_ like the filthy little bitch you are.” Chas actually has to rehearse this stuff, sometimes. John really gets off on the dirty talk, and while Chas doesn't get off on the harsh words, he _does_ love the way it reduces John to shaking and _crying_ on the good nights. Chas can't help but love the _power_ a few sexy words here and there give him over Constantine, over how willing the other man is to take _orders_ from him if it's bedroom-related. “And when we get home I'm going to put you in the shower and watch you scrub every bit clean.”

“Every bit?” John repeats.

“Every _inch_ of you.” It'll be necessary anyway; tonight's monster looks the _messy_ kind.

“Thanks, Daddy.” John murmurs, and Chas catches his lips in a quick kiss before sitting back. “S'time we got out there. Guard's gone.”

“You first.” Chas says, and he watches John move out the door, delights in the way his shirt comes down to the other's _knees_ where it's tied around his waist. Chas smirks, and does his best not to groan in pain as he climbs out of the tiny little closet again.

 


End file.
